


Something to See

by DoreyG



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Kissing, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Sensation Play, Yuleporn, Yuletide 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-12 17:43:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12964896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: "Get on the bed," Andy says, quite simply and calmly.





	Something to See

**Author's Note:**

  * For [storiesfortravellers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfortravellers/gifts).



"Get on the bed," Andy says, quite simply and calmly. As if this is just some average, everyday discussion - on par with discussing his backhand, or a game of basketball.

"What is this?" He asks, unable to keep a little bit of nervous defensiveness from creeping into his voice. Always the way, time after time - he quails at the thought of showing any vulnerability, so takes refuge in running his mouth instead, "some sort of new training game? I get on the bed, and magically I win my next five matches and..."

"Nick."

Andy doesn't say it in any specific way, doesn't really sound exasperated or chiding or angry or any of that shit, but it's still enough to stop him in his tracks. The hotel room is dark and intimate, the only thing really between them a slight breeze blowing from the window. Andy's eyes are intent upon him, not yet wild with desire but still focused with more genuine interest than a lot of people want to show him.

He backs silently to the bed. Sits down on the soft edge, and then shifts even further until he's lying down and staring placidly - hah! Well, as placidly as he can - at the ceiling.

There's a long moment, that he spends staring at the slightly pitted ceiling and trying not to wonder too hard over what the hell he's doing, and then the bed dips again under Andy's weight. There's a shift of fabric, a whisper of anticipation, and then the man is braced over him - shirtless, and calm, and still watching him with those beautifully compassionate eyes.

"Put your hands above your head," Andy says. It isn't precisely an order, not the kind he's heard coaches barking at other players on the court anyway, but doesn't really sound like a suggestion either. He could easily resist it, keep his hands down by his sides and give a defiant smile instead, but...

He puts his hands up above his head. Notes, almost absently, the feeling of excitement starting to shudder deep in his stomach.

"Good," Andy says with the flicker of a smile, and suddenly he has to deal with the warmth spreading through his chest as well as a troublesome stomach, "now... Sit up for me briefly, keeping your hands as high as you can."

He sits up, obedient as he tries to deal with his weird mixture of feelings. Finds himself briefly smothered, fighting the urge to splutter and struggle, as Andy takes the opportunity to reach down and pull his shirt right over his head. So they're both bare chested, and he’s feeling so much more vulnerable than before.

"Lie back down." Andy gives another brief flicker of a smile, watches his chest approvingly as he hurries to obey yet again, "do you think you can maintain that position, for as long as I say?"

"I can do anything," he says, summoning up his usual level of bravado. Somehow it comes harder, lying here under the eyes of a man who he suspects would still look at him the same way even if he lost his mind and broke down sobbing on his shoulder.

"I'll settle for you keeping your arms above your head, for now," Andy informs him, looking amused in that way that always makes him go a bit stupidly swoony inside, and braces himself above again, "you're alright with kissing, I'm guessing?"

He nods instinctively, with an eagerness that he'd feel embarrassed about at any other time, and immediately Andy's mouth comes down to cover his. He doesn't taste of very much, maybe some slight mintiness from either gum or some vigorous tooth-brushing. The thought of Andy sprucing up before coming to see him is unexpectedly thrilling, like he's actually worthy of respect.

"Nick," Andy rumbles when they finally part, his voice finally dipping lower in a way that's undeniably sexy, "are you paying attention?"

"Trust me." He hurries to reassure, almost reaching a hand out before remembering Andy's orders and lacing his fingers together to keep them on the pillow, "my attention is a hundred percent on you. More than a hundred percent, a hundred and fifty percent."

"Technically impossible," Andy informs him, but looks amused again. God, it really does cause that swooning feeling in him every time - that breathless giddiness, driven on by knowing that he's the one to make Andy lose his composure, "you're really something to look at, you know that?"

He does know it, but he still finds himself practically lighting up at the compliment, "it's just a result of all the tennis. You're nothing bad yourself, y'know."

"Hm," Andy says, but seems pleased - dips back in for a quick kiss, careful and precise, before leaning back and allowing his fingers to drop to the waistband of his jeans, "I wouldn't mind more of the view, to be perfectly honest."

He lifts his hips eagerly, as clear a signal as he can make it, and watches as Andy pops the button and drags the denim down his legs. He's wearing boxers, a clear tent at the front that it'd take the most oblivious person on earth to ignore. Andy presses the heel of his palm into it briefly, seemingly just to make him hiss and buck, and then dispenses of the boxers too - leaving him bare on the bed, more vulnerable than he's ever been.

He's had sex before, of course, but... Never with anybody who looks at him in quite the way that Andy looks at him: like he's somebody special and worthy and deserving of all the care in the world. He preens a little, under that sort of gaze. He feels like he could spend the rest of his life preening, under that sort of gaze.

"Something to look at," Andy repeats, more to himself than anybody else, and then leans up for another kiss. It's longer this time, filthier. He finds himself bucking up against the man's leg like the horny teenager he was only a few years ago, desperate to get some friction, "keep your hands above your head."

"I heard you the first time." He gasps, more turned on than actually annoyed. More turned on than he's ever been before, to tell the absolute truth.

Andy still sends him an apologetic smile, as if genuinely sorry for the reminder that slipped out. Drops yet another kiss to the corner of his lips, and then trails his mouth down and across. The brush of the man's lips down his neck is a sort of sweet torture, one that leaves him dazed and desperately grinding his hips up yet again.

It's only the start. From there Andy moves quickly to his collarbone, nipping at the fragile flesh there in a way that could almost be called teasing if it was anybody else. He gives a full body shudder at the contact, can hear his own noises filling the room - embarrassingly loud gasps, wavering grunts that stray far too close to whimpers for his liking.

Not that he really gives that much of a shit, to be honest. Andy lingers on his collarbone for about a minute, but soon redirects his attention even lower. By the time the man's mouth closes around one of his nipples, already erect, he's pretty sure that he could spend the rest of his life whimpering in response to every query and not give even a single shit.

Because Andy, for such a usually taciturn guy, is really good with his mouth. He tightens his lips around that nipple, and circles his tongue in such a way that his whimpers soon progress to full on crying out to the silence of the hotel room. As he bucks and writhes on the bed, one hand even comes up to toy with the other nipple as if experimenting with ways to make it even more erect. He feels half driven out of his mind, grinding up against air - Andy carefully shifting to avoid giving him too much friction - and not caring how desperate he must seem.

Such abandonment, of calm and dignity and his usual angry defences, comes with its own reward. Andy eventually, possibly after a period of several blissful years has elapsed, lifts his head. Casts him an approving look, especially seeming to linger on the jerky rise and fall of his chest, before moving on - pressing a line of kisses across his abs and down his stomach and over his hips until...

"Christ," he just has to say, as Andy settles warmly between his splayed legs.

"Surprise," Andy says, deadpan, and then looks absolutely delighted when he has to turn his head into his upper arm to hide a full-on splutter of laughter, "you really are absolutely gorgeous, you know. More gorgeous than I think you realize."

"You do know that I'm the one who keeps posing in his underwear," he mutters, hiding a blush into his upper arm now, "right?"

"I don't mean just your looks, really. I mean..." Andy seems to hesitate for a second, then strokes two decisive hands over his upper thighs. He feels the sudden jerk of his already pretty much painful cock, and the sudden burst of arousal that goes with it is enough to drive away all the awkwardness that was starting to build, "you've been so good for me."

"Keeping my hands above my head for this long?" He gasps, grabbing onto that in a kneejerk attempt - one he already suspects is pretty much futile - to ward off any gathering emotion.

"That, and- yeah." Andy hesitates again, then finally reaches out to touch him properly - wrapping one hand firmly around the base of his cock, while bracing the other one on the bed for balance, "think you can keep them up there a little longer?"

He thinks, in a way half dazed and half magical, that if Andy asked him to fly up to the moon and establish a tennis academy up there he'd give it his best shot. But, for once, chooses to avoid running his mouth and simply nods instead - fast and sharp, possibly as passionate as any nod has ever been.

He's glad for his restraint as Andy gives one of his endearing half-smiles, and immediately bends to close his mouth around his cock.

Andy starts off slow, steady and restrained and still enough to have his toes curling in the sheets. He keeps his mouth around the head first, seemingly learning the shape of it. His tongue gently trails over it as if he's memorising every sweat-salty inch, and it’s all he can do to restrain the urge to start writhing and screaming on the bed like he's in some porno flick.

As if reading his thoughts, Andy's eyes flicker up briefly to take in his reaction. Seemingly pleased by what he finds there, he bends his head in earnest and starts slowly bobbing up and down. He moves his mouth until he can practically feel the man straining against his gag reflex, then withdraws to the tip again slow and steady.

After a few minutes of such treatment, yet again seeming like years, it's taking all of his willpower not to unlace his fingers from each other and plunge them into Andy's thick hair. He settles for whining instead, whining and whimpering and groaning like he's at risk of dying if things don't speed up soon. It's probably not too much of a melodramatic statement, either - he feels like he's going to melt into the bed from the heat of his arousal at any moment.

Andy eventually takes mercy on him, again as if reading his thoughts. His bobbing gets faster and faster, to the point where he has to squeeze his eyes shut against the onslaught of sensation. The hand wrapped around the base of his cock moves, trailing intimately over his balls and then lower until it's pressing right against his entrance - teasing the muscle with exactly the right level of firmness.

It's glorious, and wonderful, and filthy. It's probably the best thing that's ever happened to him, better even than hitting an ace and watching the other player give up in disgust. It's transcendent, and beautiful, and lovely. It's-

...Suddenly over.

"Hey!" He protests, and tries to lever himself up as Andy shifts from between his legs and stands, "you can't stop now! It isn't fair, I haven't-"

"Nick," Andy interrupts him, seeming perfectly calm despite his hair being everywhere and his cheeks being flushed and his everything generally looking like a debauched mess, and he immediately shuts up and leans back against the pillows, "just give me a second, 'kay?"

It turns out to be an extremely interesting second. Andy closes his eyes briefly, as if grounding himself, and then moves his hand to the buttons of his own trousers. They slide down over his hips, quickly followed by his underwear, and then he's standing before him - bare, and so handsome that he kind of wants to immediately put his mouth on every inch of skin that he can see.

Andy smiles at him briefly, a small and genuine smile, and then turns on his heel - heading for the bathroom with a purpose, stride only slightly altered by the erection swinging between his legs.

"I'm clean, you know," he says, trying to arch as much off the bed as he can with his arms still held obediently above his head.

"I know," Andy calls from the bathroom. There's the sound, distant but clear, of a cabinet being opened. A box being ripped, and a condom being shook out into an eagerly waiting hand.

"You've just had your mouth on my cock," he grumbles, but without too much rancour. He's too aroused for more than a fair bit of impatience to just _get on with it_ , "fucking me isn't that much more intimate, if you didn't want to-"

Andy reappears in the door of the bathroom, still naked and with condom and lube clutched in hands, and he immediately stops struggling. Relaxes on the bed, breathing deep and regular, as the man crosses the room with an eager kind of determination in his eyes, "this is what we're doing, the first time."

"If you say so," he manages, watching as Andy rips open the packet and slides the condom neatly - hands only shaking the slightest, most flattering bit - over his own cock. Throws the lube on the bed at the same time, waiting between his spread legs like a promise.

"This is what I do, the first time I sleep with somebody I respect," Andy says, firm and kind, and slides onto the bed again. Rests one hand against his left bicep briefly, before shifting down to rearrange his legs, "keep your hands above your head."

He hitches his legs up eagerly, wanting to get Andy in between them as quickly as he possibly can. The care with which Andy watches him is the best aphrodisiac he's ever known, the honest regard in his eyes as he clicks open the lube bottle and pours it out over his hands a gift that he's pretty sure he's never going to stop wanting.

For all that care, Andy is still kind enough to prepare him quickly. His first finger is gentle and probing, learning the inside of him just as surely as the man learnt his cock a few minutes earlier, but he quickly adds a second one. By the time Andy's up to three, stretching him quickly and efficiently, he's straight back to keening for it.

The three fingers slide out of him quicker than he would've expected, and then Andy is back above him with his arms braced and his expression intent. They share a brief smile, Andy leans in to kiss his mouth like he's something precious to be treasured...

And then the man's pushing in, still ever so careful but _firm_ in exactly the way he's been needing. Andy pushes and pushes, keeping an eye on him every single step of the way, until he bottoms out - filling him so fully that he has to wonder, with the one corner of his brain that hasn't been reduced to gibbering at the sheer hotness of this, why they haven't been doing this for years.

Andy grins, actually grins, as if reading his thoughts one last time. And then starts to move in earnest.

Things go pretty quickly from there, to tell truth, and he's not complaining in the slightest. When Andy sets his mind to something he'll move heaven and hell to accomplish it, and this is no different. He thrusts slowly at first, feeling out a pace, but soon gets up to speed - pounding into him with a passion that takes his breath away.

It's not the only thing to steal his breath. The focus in Andy's eyes, the smile still slightly curving his mouth. The way his hair is ruffled and wild upon his head, the noises that he starts to make almost involuntarily as if the helpless groans are being dragged out of him. The warmth of his body braced above, the thickness of his cock pounding roughly within. The way he manages to hit his prostrate on every single thrust, how he seems to be doing that deliberately as if his only mission is to give as much pleasure as humanly possible...

It's all intoxicating, magical. Better than a cold drink in a bar, better than a hot shower after a long day of tennis, better than lifting the trophy at a tournament and seeing all his rivals fall before him. It is, quite simply, the best thing that he's ever experienced.

Is it any wonder, after all that, that he comes quickly? With tears in his eyes, and his arms still locked obediently above his head.

He expects Andy to last a little longer, to push through with that same stubbornness that has seen him become champion so many times, but it soon becomes apparent that he's not the only one who was desperate for it. The moment that Andy notices his come splattering across his stomach he lets out an animal noise, ducks his head and clenches his fingers in the sheets as if desperately trying to resist the urge to lose his rhythm completely and rut like an animal.

He'd like to see that one day, hopefully one day soon, but for now he's content just to tighten his legs across Andy's back and silently urge him on. The man comes only a few seconds later, his eyes closed and his blush so vivid that it stretches right down his chest.

Afterwards he feels more peaceful than he can ever remember being, _right_ in a way certain and definite and burning in his gut like a fire. Andy stirs briefly, to pull out and dispose of the condom in the waste paper basket across the room, but soon returns to him. They curl up under the blankets together, warm and safe and like nothing else exists in the whole wide world.

"You can lower your arms now," Andy whispers eventually, tone soft and fond and a little wondering, and he does without even a word of protest.


End file.
